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Sunday, November 15, 2015

Slug Tent

With my tent I can camp anywhere. This saves money and it’s fun camping on the sly behind the sightbreak of the hedges. It can be lonely and it lacks the amenities of hot showers/toilets/etcetera...

One is at a distinct disadvantage when camping thusly in Ireland. This is not made fully clear until the morning.

Morning in Ireland brings rain, light rain that is more of an over friendly mist. It has separation anxiety. Something else that seems over eager to be near you are the infinite masses of slugs oozing their slimy way over your tent. The slime has blocked out the light. It’s a fine awakening to see a slug two inches from your face. Its a slightly better morning when you realize that the slug is on the other side of the nylon from yourself. But only very slightly better.

I started flicking, building up my flicking muscles and my flicking skill level. Slugs flew in high arcs over the hedgerow, endangering passing motorists by splattering thunderously upon their windscreens. Imagine the poor cyclist, for he is deserving of our pity.

By the time I’d finished, or thought I’d finished, flicking away all the slippery slugs I had become the undefeated slug flicking world champion. No I do not wish to defend my world champion status, I am perfectly content passing it on without contest. And yes, in retrospect I should have simply burnt the tent, sacrificing the slugs to some sort of Slug God, the patron of cabbage and bathroom floors. Or should that be the Salt God, Melter of Slugs and next year’s Iron Chef. I’m not up to date on my conspicuous, insignificant, minor deities, but what I do know is that I was left with a lovely new silvery tent pattern.